


could we still run away, do you think?

by snapdragonpop007



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, I watched the entirety of good omens last night, M/M, Moving In Together, Slow Dancing, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), and I needed to write something ASAP, but here we are, cuz i wrote it in a day, its literally all fluff, this is not that great, very minor spoilers for the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 20:16:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19047634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapdragonpop007/pseuds/snapdragonpop007
Summary: Aziraphale smiled then, a bright and happy smile that he couldn’t shake off even if he wanted to. “I would want nothing more than to run away with you, Crowley.”Crowley beamed.





	could we still run away, do you think?

The first day of the rest of their lives had a few ups and downs, but in the end it worked out well for Aziraphale and Crowley. 

They were able to feed the ducks they both so loved (although Crowley will deny it), they worked out what little differences they still had left with ice cream and soft smiles, Aziraphale snuck them to a quiet corner of the park and kissed Crowley like it was the first time he had done so in years (it wasn’t, but after the week they had it certainly felt like it), and they had lunch at the Ritz for the first time in what felt like years (and it _had_ actually been years). 

This is where they still were, sipping wine and eating cake (nibbling, in Crowley’s case. He wasn’t one for sweets).

“We could still run away, you know.” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale took a pause, holding his glass to his lips for a moment before pulling it back. “To the stars?”

“No—no, I was thinking—“ Crowley swallowed, and although his face was turned towards Aziraphale the angel was certain he wasn’t looking at him. He was, Aziraphale suddenly realized, nervous. “I was thinking a little closer to home, actually.” 

Crowley’s fingers were tapping against the table and his leg was bouncing. 

It was his nervous tick--something Aziraphale didn’t see often. 

Aziraphale set his glass down, staring at Crowley. He blinked once, then felt his lips go into a soft smile. He reached out across the table, taking Crowley’s hand in his and tangling their fingers together. 

“Where were you thinking, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of Crowley’s hand. 

Crowley smiled, the nervousness seeping out of him. 

“I found this little cottage—well, not little, it’s actually quite large—got enough room for your books and things and a garden out back, and it’s got a few bedrooms if Adam ever wanted to visit, and it’s right by the sea and you do love the sssea—“

“It sounds lovely, Crowley.” It really did, in Aziraphale’s opinion. 

Crowley blinked, then ducked his head down and—Aziraphale noticed with a tingle of delight—flushed a pleasant pink. 

“It’s in the Ssouth Downs.” Crowley spoke softly, his hiss coming out just enough for Aziraphale to notice in his excitement. “Right by the beach we liked to walk down.” 

Aziraphale knew exactly what beach Crowley was talking about. It was the one they went to when they were both in London. They would go there whenever they had a spare moment of time when they were still with Warlock, watching the snowfall in the winters and walking along the sands barefoot in the summers. 

It was a place of many first for the two of them. 

It was the place where they had their first real fight. The kind that ends in tears and shouting matches and trembling apologies late into the night. It was the witness to the first time Aziraphale worked up the courage to tell Crowley he loved him. It was there to silently urge Crowley into kissing Aziraphale for the first time, and to watch after them for the moments after. It was there when Crowley begged to sleep until the pain was gone, and it was there when Aziraphale asked for Crowley to come back to him. 

It was fitting, then, for it to be the place to watch over them as they finally, truly, settled down. 

The sand and the water would want to be apart of this first, just as it was there for the rest of them.

Aziraphale smiled then, a bright and happy smile that he couldn’t shake off even if he wanted to. “I would want nothing more than to run away with you, Crowley.”

Crowley beamed. 

 

\--

 

They had arranged for a viewing later that night, with Aziraphale sipping on a mug of cocoa while he tried to work Crowley’s laptop to book the viewing before Crowley gave up and called the real estate agent from his phone. 

The next day they got into Crowley’s newly restored Bentley (he needed to remember to send a thank you card to Adam), and they both elected to take the long way down.

“We don’t ever get to see the scenery.” was what Aziraphale had said, and Crowley--no matter how hard he tried--was never one to say no to the angel. 

“Alright,” Crowley had replied. “But I’m not going slow.” 

He had, in fact, gone slow. 

They had arrived later than the scheduled time, but the real estate agent--a lovely young woman by the name of Beatrice--hadn’t minded one bit. She had smiled and brushed off their apologies and thought privately that they made a rather handsome pair. 

“--we never do get much time away from work--” Aziraphale was still trying to work in an apology, and Beatrice had just given him a soft smile.

“It’s really alright, Mr. Fell. My wife and I are the same way. Our work schedules are absolutely dreadful.” 

Aziraphale relaxed then. 

“How about we head inside, angel.” Crowley spoke softly, placing a cool hand in the small of Aziraphale’s back. 

(Most demons ran warm, but Crowley, ever the one to be different from the pack, was cool to the touch. Not that Aziraphale minded. He had always been more inclined to colder things.)

“Ah, yes. Right.” 

Beatrice smiled, then opened the front door and waved them inside. 

The first thing that greeted Aziraphale and Crowley was the sunlight streaming in through the living room’s bay windows. Aziraphale gave a soft gasp at the sight, while Crowley eyed the window seats and thought how nice it would be to curl up and doze off in the sun. He also thought about how it would make a good spot for a few of his more stubborn plants. 

“It’s lovely, isn't it?” Beatrice asked. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered, still looking at the windows.

Crowley, meanwhile, was looking around at the rest of the living room (he had seen it all already, having booked a previous viewing with a different agent). It would need a little work--the walls were painted a truly awful shade of blue and the built in bookshelf would need to be fixed up--but it really was a rather lovely little room and Crowley could almost admit that he fell in love with it. Had fallen in love with the whole cottage, really. 

But he wouldn’t tell you that.

Beatrice led them to the kitchen next. It was large for a cottage and (to Crowley’s utter delight) it came with brand new appliances. The back splash tile was absolutely atrocious (it was the kind with little flowers and fruit on them), but unfortunately Aziraphale loved it. 

Crowley could work around it, he supposed. Or fill the kitchen windowsill with plants in retaliation. He would probably do that anyway.

The study was what really sold it for Aziraphale. 

It had another large window with a window seat, and two of the walls were covered with built in book shelves. Crowley was sure Aziraphale would add more, as well as drag that horrendously large desk in with it and he would absolutely get Crowley to help because he would want to move in like people normally did (which meant not miracleing in anything and getting sweaty and shaky arms from lifting boxes and moving furniture all day, which were two things Crowley hated), but with the way Aziraphale was looking at him Crowley didn’t think he would mind one bit.

“Oh, Crowley, it’s--” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in his, looking around the room one more time before looking back at Crowley. “How long have you been…?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on it, in case we ever--in case the world didn’t end.” Crowley looked away from him, that light flush on his cheeks again. 

Aziraphale was smiling again. It was the one he always had when he was about to tell Crowley that he was nice and sweet and not as bad as he always said he was.

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Crowley grumbled. 

“No, of course not.” Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss to Crowley’s cheek. 

Crowley huffed, but he didn’t let go of Azriaphale’s hand when he pulled back. 

Beatrice had watched this entire interaction, turning away to hide her smile. She hadn’t been in real estate for long, but she didn’t think she had ever seen a couple more in love than these two. And Beatrice had seen many couples in her time. Most of the time they were fighting over silly things like back splash and flooring, but Crowley seemed ready to agree with almost anything Aziraphale wanted (which wasn’t much, mind you, but Beatrice had seen many couples fight over things for less). 

“Alright then,” Beatrice turned back to the two as Crowley cleared his throat and spoke up. “We’ll buy it.” 

Beatrice blinked once. “Don’t you want to see the upstairs?” 

“No, that’s alright.” this time is was Aziraphale that spoke. 

“I’ll have to speak to the owner--”

“We’ll pay whatever they want.” Crowley shoved a hand in his pocket, his gaze finding its way back to Aziraphale. He had such a sweat smile on his lips, and Beatrice could see him rubbing circles into the back of Aziraphale’s hand with his thumb. 

Beatrice blinked again. Then she smiled softly. “I’ll let the owner know, then.”

She lead Aziraphale and Crowley outside after that, wishing them a safe drive and a lovely rest of their day. They wished her the same in return, and then they each went their separate ways. Aziraphale and Crowley, back to the bookshop in Soho, and Beatrice, back to her wife in another small cottage in South Downs. 

They were soon to meet again, however. For Beatrice would call back exactly two days later with the asking price on the cottage, and Crowley would readily agree. Then they would meet up in a small cafe in London the next day to sign the paperwork and accept a dinner invitation that Beatrice had extended to them. Crowley and Aziraphale would move into the little cottage a week later, leave everything still packed, miracle on some fresh clothes and a freshly baked cake, then meet Beatrice and Rose for dinner. 

 

\--

 

“This would be much easier if you would just let me miracle all this away.” Crowley huffed, tapping the paintbrush against his cheek. Unfortunately, he had forgotten there was paint on it, and he sputtered and hissed as the cold liquid hit his cheek. 

“But it’s much more fun this way,” Aziraphale popped up behind Crowley, peering over his shoulder to look at the paint smear on his cheek. “Yellow suits you, my dear. It brings out your eyes.” 

He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s temple, then stood and went back to the shelf, where he was meticulously placing and stacking his books. 

Crowley scowled, then turned back to the wall. 

He had gotten about half of a wall done, and the pale yellow Crowley was painting on was cashing horribly with the blue. He wanted so badly to snap his fingers and just get everything done in one go, but Aziraphale was having fun with it, and it had been so long since Aziraphale had smiled and laughed like this. 

And Crowley had missed that laugh, more than he could ever admit. 

Crowley hummed, lifting the paintbrush again and picking up where he left off. He was outlining the edge of the trim (and had been at it for a little less than an hour), and he had made it to the edge of the wall when a soft melody filled the room. 

A record player was sitting on the one table that wasn’t still covered in bubble wrap, singing notes that Crowley couldn’t quite recognize.

“Where did you get that, angel?” 

Aziraphale was humming along. He really did have such a lovely voice, but he had always been shy about it. “Oh, I just…”

He waved his hand around in a lazy way.

Crowley blinked, then frowned. “So you can miracle things in the cottage, but I can’t?”

There was no real bite behind it. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, taking the few steps it took to get to Crowley. He held out his hand, giving the demon an impossibly soft smile. “Come here.” 

Crowley took his hand, letting Aziraphale pull him up. He twirled him around, then lead Crowley into a series of steps that resembled something like a waltz. It was more of a sway, really. Crowley slipped his hand around Aziraphale’s waist, holding him close as they swayed gently in time with the song in the middle of the living room.

_That certain night_  
The night we met  
There was magic abroad in the air  
There were angels dining at the Ritz  
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley square 

Aziraphale was softly singing along. 

“I love when you sing, angel.” Crowley whispered it, almost afraid that if he spoke it would break the trance they seemed to have fallen into. “Have I ever told you that?” 

_The moon that lingered over London town_  
Poor puzzled moon he wore a frown  
How could he know we two were so in love 

“Yes, you have.” Aziraphale was whispering too.

“I don’t tell you it nearly enough, I think.” Crowley dropped his head, close enough that his cheek was kissing Aziraphale’s lips. “I don’t tell you a lot of things nearly enough as I should.” 

They were moving slower now, in time with the soft breeze blowing through the open windows.

_And as we kissed and said goodnight  
A nightingale sang in Berkeley square_

“I love you, Aziraphale. So, so much.” Crowley breathed out softly, closing his eyes for a moment. “I don’t tell you that often enough.” 

“You don’t need to tell me something I already know.” Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley’s cheek, right over the paint, running his thumb along his cheek until Crowley opened his eyes again. 

Aziraphale loved Crowley’s eyes. He loved the bright shades of yellow, and how they looked like liquid gold in the right light. He loved how warm they could be, how his pupils dilated with the light and his moods. He loved how they looked at him, when Crowley thought he wasn’t looking.

“We can finish painting tomorrow, can’t we?” Crowley was looking at Aziraphale like he was the most important thing in the world to him (and that’s because he was).

_There was never a dream to compare_  
To those hazy crazy nights we met  
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley square 

“I don’t see why we can’t.” Aziraphale was looking at Crowley in much the same way.

They were hardly moving now. Pressed cheek to cheek, hands held tightly as they swayed in time to the words and gentle rhythm of their own breathing. They stayed like that until the last notes faded out and then a little while after that, eventually disappearing upstairs and leaving behind packed boxes and a drying can of paint. 

But things like that didn’t matter anymore. Not to them, at least. 

Aziraphale and Crowley had run away from the pressures of work and business and life and the Ineffable Plan and to a little cottage in a little village, and the only demands and wishes they had to listen to would only ever be their own.

**Author's Note:**

> listen, they played A Nightingale at Berkeley Square at the end and my mind immediately went to these two gay idiots slow dancing


End file.
